Delectable Dee

She didn't get her 2nd birthday
I stole it
instead of presents
wrapped in gold
with ribbons of moonbeams
and beaded stars
she got a lump
of bloody fists and hungry shrieks
- me.

she made me paper dolls
and agreed to make me her squirrel
she built me indestructible forts
made by fluffy pillows topped with marshmallows
she gave me her milk
she taught me to sing
she read to me Thumbelina
religiously so
that I memorized the story at the early age of 3
she gave me rains
from her lofty high chair
with pitcher in hands
(we didn't have shower)
she let me lick all the fillings of her oreos
she colored my nails with flower petals
she shared with me her birthday cakes

I was born on her 2nd birthday
and for the longest time
she though I was her present
she is my partner in crime
I believe God made our souls together
she is my soul mate
- she is my sister.

A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost. 
~Marion C. Garretty~


In my loneliness and fear,
through every pain every tear
There's a God who's been faithful to me
When my strength was all gone,
when my heart had no song
Still my God has been faithful to me

Every word He promised is true
What I thought was impossible
I've seen my God do

He's been faithful, faithful to me
Just looking back His love and mercy I see
When in my heart I have questioned
And failed to believe
He's been faithful, faithful to me

When my heart looked away,
the many times I could not pray
Even then He's been faithful to me
The days I've spent so selfishly,
reaching out for what pleased me
Still in love He's been faithful to me

And every time I come back to Him
I see Him waiting with His open arms and I know once again

He's been faithful, faithful to me
Just looking back His love and mercy I see
When in my heart I have questioned
And failed to believe
He's been faithful, faithful to me

(Carol Cymbala)

-----  ~@~  -----

This is the song we practiced today for the choir to sing for tomorrow's Sunday Service. This song just moves me to tears.

I know I haven't got the faith of a child and that I struggle with my doubts. When things don't to according to my plans, I often times (I am not going to deny that) falter and ask Him why? And there have been times when I already know the answer why but because I am stubborn and I hurt more because I'm proud, I still ask why.

I am in awe of His unfailing grace and mercy. I cannot ever understand how He can love a wreck such as I but I am eternally grateful that He is love and faithful.

To God be the glory and a blessed weekend to you all!



I miss you. This emotion, it's so intense it's terrible. The days and nights are colder now but particularly because they're empty. It almost feels like the cyberian breeze is dancing to the frosty tune the season fiddles and my heart more than ever, longs for the warmth your embrace could only afford. The rain constantly pours, washing my window panes perpetually but that's as far as they could go. I hope they can wash your memory from my heart.

Where has time taken you now? Have you found another? Has your fluttering lips found another anxious bud, seemingly sweet? Has your thoughts found another bosom to rest upon? Has your heart started beating on a new song? Where are you? I close my eyes and I still see you but you are fringed by dark mists and I cannot see where you are. As I caress your face with my longing, I see that you are not even looking my way. It pains me to know that you sense me but decide to ignore me, pretend to glance almost my way but not really reaching me.

Are you happy? Are you warm? I wish I have any other way to talk to you, to tell you what I really want to say, to hear your voice or just to hear you breathe.

Every new year marks another notch to the number of years that I have been loving you, continually holding out my torch for you. After all these months of searing paranoia of silence, after so many songs lost in the wind, fantasies woven into the tapestry of dreams, finally you turn to look at me, but decided to not really see me. Why?

I wish you'd stop asking me why I love you and then ask me not to. I wish you'd stop asking me to bare you my soul and tell me you have to stay away. I wish you'd stop telling me I'm the music of your heart then walk away singing an entirely different tune. I wish you'd stop asking to hold my hand only to say goodbye. I wish you'd stop asking me to read the poems I've written for you only to dance around me and pretend not to hear everytime I say I love you. I wish you'd stop looking at me and start seeing me. I wish you'd stop telling me your shirt still smells of me when all these times, you know I've been blindly groping for a shoulder to hold my head when I feel I need to be with you and I'm not; which is all the time.

I don't know what went wrong. Do you still think of me? Are you just busy even on holidays inspired by and for love or do we just have different meanings for the word forever? I religiously read your last letter, memorizing every word, burying them in my heart, hoping they would take the place you've left and warm me where your arms have failed to embrace. Do you still dream about me? Do you still hope to dream about me?

If only words can immortalize emotions.

*the author wishes to express that her intentions for baring such personal epistle is solely for art and art alone. She no longer posses these heartaches nor does she chase after these lost dreams anymore.


"..after taking every detour
getting lost in losing track
so that even if I wanted
I could not find my way back
after driving out the memories
of the way things might have been
and after I'd forgotten all about us
the Song remembers when.."
(The Song Remembers When - Trisha Yearwood)


I relayed to my sister Ate Therese's tales and got her really interested so she asked me to accompany her there and so I did. We went there yesterday. I purposely didn't bring my camera because I wanted to take pictures on the second level and I know they won't allow it there.  tee*hee  I used my cellphone's camera to steal pictures. *now now, lower those raised eyebrows and relax*

I already mentioned to Ate Ai and Ate Therese the last time we were there that I hated those floating dresses and that they somehow freak me out. The dresses, or at least, one of the dresses wanted to live up to the impression.

On the little girl's room, there was a display of an old canopy bed and some old toys. A freakish old doll (I share ate Therese's sentiments) and some old tea sets. Then on the corner was a display of an old dress of a child and it is encased with glass on all four corners. The dress moved. It actually swayed and flipped from side to side without any wind causing it. It did so for a great deal of time. A minute, probably. It was an experience, I tell you.

On another room on the 1st level, the one with the table where they keep the family tree, it smelt like old or dead people there. It wasn't like that at all the last time we were there. Odd.

I had new and interesting experiences. We're planning on going back sometime this month. We want to read everything about the family. Whatever happened to them?


And also, I'm sharing a picture of one of the original copies of Noli Me Tangere.


I don't care if he loves to jump on top of buildings wearing a pointed mask and a black cape. The fact that he wears eyeliners around his eyes under the mask is of no importance. He is most definitely not emo. It's perfectly fine, I'll even share eyeliners with him. *giggles*

I'd flinch everytime I'd see and nurse his wounds for him but I'll never ask him to give up his calling. I'd spend half if not all night on my knees praying for his safely.  I'd be ready with breakfast on my lap ready for him to eat everyday when he comes home and I'd lovingly massage him until he's relaxed and floats to sleep.

But what must I do for him to notice me? I'm but a poor nobody. Sure, I'm gorgeous and sexy but that's also debatable (damnit!). Perhaps, I'll make my own call signal? "Help! Beautiful dreamer in her and she'll reward you with kisses stringed with poetry all throughout your life!"

Ah, Dark Knight! Come hither...your true love is calling out for you. *giggles*


Plurk is down. They're getting "new shoes" according to their error page. Very original, too. Hooomans. cute is that?


Dear Friend,

I sometimes think I'm dumb and I know I still don't understand a lot of things. I don't pretend to play Dr. Phil either on emotional dramas my feeble compassion couldn't wrap itself around on. I also know I'm not good with words when I feel lost and unsure. Perhaps, at times I may seem rude or uncaring when I suddenly fall silent. I wouldn't know what to say, perhaps overwhelmed and confused.

And just like before, I am again stuck in this crack. I have never been able to understand how a friend can stop being happy for another and rather cultivate hate and sow seeds of doubt. Why would anybody do that?

I am aware that I am one of those "easy-to-please" people. I don't think I am complicated when it comes to people reading how I feel. Forgive me for my lack of sophistication but even when I am swimming in my pool of misery, I could not remember me stopping from being happy for my friends, and much more wish them to be unhappy as I am.

I cannot drop my life for you and push everyone away and be miserable too, just to show you how much I feel for you. I am sorry that he was an ass and I am sorry you wasted 2 years waiting for him. I am sorry that I don't know the right words to comfort you more than what I've already said and offered.

Now, it has become more obvious and clear that you were never happy for me. When I was with Mr. Moon, you were contradictory and thought I was too young to know any better. You were "relieved" when things ended and you were mean all throughout my grieving period. Now that I am with someone who truly loves me, you sneer and tell me I'm too young to be somebody's "penguin."

You were selfish of your own happiness and only remembered me when you need to whine. I had thought you to be beautiful. I thought your sense of "reality" was too seasoned for naive little me to ever understand.

Well, I am not sorry for being happy. I am not sorry for loving and most definitely for being loved.

For what's it worth, I still think you are truly beautiful , if you only allow yourself to be.

And for all my apologies, I am most sorry that you have converted to assholism.



Ian introduced me to 3BT (three beautiful things) when he invited me to join it's group over at facebook. As how I personally understand the goal, it is to acknowledge at least three things in our every day life that brings us pleasure, to enable us to appreciate life more.

I have been meaning to do this for quite some time now and finally, I'm dumping procrastination.

My Three Beautiful Things: Chapter One.

Rain - contrary to most people, I love the rain and have always found it comforting. Rain doesn't give me the gloomy feeling nor does it dampen my spirit. I relish in rain when I am hurt and I celebrate rain when I am jubilant. I have way too much happy memories with rain for me to ever feel down when it's raining.

Mosquito coils - to be more exact, Lavender Scented mosquito coils. I absolutely abhor mosquitoes. I hate them buzzing around me and I hate their stings. Lavender scented mosquito coils helps me relax and not have to be upset about them and the scent is gentle to the nose and smells rather nice. I consume about 20 coils a week. It's one of my "must haves".

Early morning talks - I have come to love early morning talks with my mom, on the breakfast table before she leaves for work. It's when she's at her best because of rest and sleep and no work clutters and stress hassles. It's when she smiles a lot and laughs easily, too.


It has been a very hot and humid week. It's also been a week since Andi's baptismal and meeting both The Amazing Siroy (somehow, those three words instantly pop up inside my head everytime I'd think about her) and The Lovely T (because indeed she is lovely!). I still remember how the laughter sounded. I still remember Ate Kaith's bubbly squeaks. I still giggle when I recall every talks and every smiles.


after all the glory, wealth and fame
a time when no one would even remember your name
after today and tomorrow has long been gone
even past the time when light and warmth
can no longer be expected from the sun
when the waves would no longer rush back to the shore
when the moon will be gray and is silver no more
a time when a child's laughter will be scarce
and dreamers will no longer find comfort from the stars
when all dreams are forgotten and all memories are bleak
when every foundation of mankind has gone weak
when every lips have lost their prayer
when all falls to regret and contentment is barely there
when the word friend loses its meaning
when faith is impossible to restore
when beauty is superficial
when grace is no more
when hope is but a mere word used
when talking of long-forgotten dreams
when love is not commitment anymore
but just a spark in a seemingly mystical whim
when memories offer no comfort and the present is cold
when tomorrow is a frustrating dream that you cannot seem to hold
when the word is spinning old, so slowly faltering on her course
when the lightning loses its majesty
when thunder is but a whisper that's tired and hoarse
ask me again if I'm going to love you until when
don't be surprised if I'm going to say until after then


*Picture NOT mine.


She trace her fingers along the sheer delicate cloth that has been chosen exquisitely to embrace her sensuous body. Boxes of partially eaten chocolates are strewn about everywhere, discarded in graceless trivial mess. Flowers that's failed to impress her are crushed, some joining in beds of ashes the discarded invitations of petty men in their foolish trance of admiration.

She goes about painting the beautiful lie on her face with nonchalant charm that exudes both confidence and grace, arresting and deadly. She bats her thick eyelashes in a flirty flutter of sun-kissed fringe and cocks her head sideways, watching her reflection in the mirror. She flashes a cold reticent smile and contentment settles on her face. Her eyes, a ravishing film of loneliness and pride.

Every sway of hip can arrest the very committed of hearts and she does it in blatant arrogance. Her heels crush and pierce every dense and wayward heart that dares an ambition to stand before the presence of her ruthless charm. She bathes and relish in every kill, vainly quenching an embittered raging wreck.

She is the very epitome of desire and every ideals. The generous lips bleeding a promise of unbridled lust, hungry and consuming. A touch of her breath can send a fully composed man to frenzied appetite for carnal bliss.

She is ahead of every game and she treads on superficial nonsense people call dreams being thrown at her feet. What need has she for such mediocre things? She cares not for religious admiration and passionate abandon of declaration of
love for her. The other girls are no competition. She knows she rules and her subjects are as blind as they are severely foolish.

She doesn't need the allegiance of a thousand valiant knights nor the wooing tongues from veneering poets. Their praises all fall on deaf ears and their useless shining beauties are all rendered bleak and ashen. Not worthy of a moment's  notice. Not deserving a fraction of a sigh.

The world is her parade and she is all alone. She win hearts and blind devotions but comes home to a choking barren house. Her bloody lipstick stains the hands that cradles the muddy over-flowing eyes. When the world is shut and she is left
alone in the confines of her stark reality, no dazzling dress can be too sensuous enough to cover the bruises of a dying heart.

Alone, she rids herself of every superficial facade and slips inside a shirt too big for her and crumbles down to a pool of pillows that still smell of him.

*picture NOT mine.